


Some Lucky Day

by pocketbookangel



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Romance, a little hurt comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-22 15:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9614573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketbookangel/pseuds/pocketbookangel
Summary: Newt Scamander finds some less-than-fantastic beasts and true love all in the same afternoon.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prosodiical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prosodiical/gifts).



The summons from the Ministry surprised Newt. “I don’t see how my particular talents can be of use for your investigation, unless there are Nifflers supporting the cause. There aren’t, are there?” he asked, concerned. He had heard of cases where the thieving ways of the Niffler were encouraged and used to fund nefarious goals. Some magical disciplines, such as alchemy, ran on piles of gold and no one questioned its origins.

“It must be a nice life you’ve got yourself, buried in the country, never picking up the newspaper.” The Head Auror tossed a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ at Newt.

MAIDSTONE MONSTER MAYHEM

“We found one of his bolt-holes, sent a couple of Aurors in. We didn’t feel any spells or charms, you would’ve thought it was a muggle house. Then we came across an ivory paper knife, _A Gift of Love_ carved on the side.  Someone said ‘This feels a bit odd,’ cast _revelio_ … Madness. The place came alive, muggle animals, magic animals, alive and hungry. We lost two Aurors and a muggle was bitten by a werewolf that had been enchanted into a drinks cabinet.”

“Your book helped us identify some of the beasts we rounded up,” Phoenicia Flint said. She had been in his year at Hogwarts, a Ravenclaw and friends with Leta, or at least friendlier than the others. They’d had potions together once, and it was a little unsettling how the girl who had enchanted elaborate vines to wind around her cauldron had become this serious woman with sleep-deprived eyes.

“When the Americans interviewed Grindelwald again, he laughed and said that he had surprises in all his houses,” the Head Auror said.

“We should be the ones holding him—” Flint said angrily.

“The diplomats are doing their work, isn’t it about time you told Mr Scamander what his part is in all of this.” Questions that weren’t questions, a professor’s trick.

Newt hadn’t noticed Dumbledore standing there before. Had he used a concealing spell or new kind of Invisibility Cloak?

“Professor.” Newt couldn’t think of what to say. The last time he’d spoken to Dumbledore was at Hogwarts, and it was a conversation that had ended with Newt leaving the school forever.

“You’re looking well. I take it your little holiday in New York did you some good.” Dumbledore beamed paternally at Newt as if they’d parted on the best of terms. Newt wondered if Fawkes were somewhere nearby. The phoenix had always deigned to accept Newt’s offerings of broken biscuits and bits of chocolate.

The Head Auror continued his story. “We found a flat right off Diagon Alley. As near as we can tell, Grindelwald stayed there before he left for New York. It looks innocuous, if a little greenery-yallery. There’s a Burne-Jones screen and paintings of Guinevere waving a handkerchief at Lancelot, and one of Rowena Ravenclaw dropping flowers into a river.”

“Not historically accurate, I’m afraid,” Dumbledore murmured.

“We want you to go in and check every item to see if it is a beast under an enchantment. If it is, you can release the spell, and then take care of it. Take it to your sanctuary, return it to its habitat, get it away from people.”

“I’m going to say yes, so you know, but if I weren’t…”

“My suggestion was that we forget about lifting any enchantments and destroy anything Grindelwald may have touched. Diagon Alley is the centre of wizarding London and there’s always a chance that something could break through to attack muggles in Charing Cross Road,” Phoenicia Flint said. There it was, the famed Flint ruthlessness.

“I received a letter from Grindelwald shortly after the Maidstone incident. It wasn’t sent through official channels.” Dumbledore unfolded a parchment.

“I’ve said it before, but we should be the ones holding him,” Flint grumbled.

“Along with some reminiscences of a highly personal nature, there was a postscript. _So you’ve raided my little pied-à-terre. Not to worry, I have many friends who will give me shelter. Do be careful when clearing it out. By the way, three is always a nice, magical number. Three bears, three Deathly Hollows. Choose wisely, my dear Albus._ ”

Dumbledore carefully tucked the parchment away in his sleeve. “I do believe this time you won’t be facing an entire menagerie. It will be something more subtle, more dangerous perhaps.”

Grindelwald’s flat was above a shop on Knockturn Alley, close to where it turned off from the main shopping street. Newt had asked to work alone, but the Ministry had insisted he needed an Auror in case Dumbledore was wrong and the rooms contained more than three enchantments. Phoenicia Flint wasn’t the kind of Auror who would let anything escape.

“Anything to help the Ministry,” the shopkeeper said as she handed over the keys. Her robes and jewellery were new and expensive, an odd contrast with the darkness of her shop.

“The items on the higher shelves are for display purposes only and are not for sale to the public.” As she spoke, she pulled the sleeves of her purple robe down so they covered her hands, but not before Newt saw the bracelet, gold twisted into the shape of the Deathly Hollows.

“If I’d known who he was, I wouldn’t have rented to him,” she said.

“You would’ve given him the room for free,” Newt said, taking the keys.

“I’m not on his side, but he’s right about some things,” she said as she took them up the stairs.

The sitting room was papered in fading wallpaper, a floral riot nearly hidden behind tall bookshelves and historically inaccurate paintings. There were very few books on the shelves, a muggle novel, _A Child’s Treasury of Charms_ , _The Coming of the Fairies_ , and a well-worn copy of _Magrat’s Marvellous Meringues, Jellies, and Trifles_.

“This is how it was the last time. It doesn’t feel magical, does it?” Flint asked.

Newt had to agree. He picked up _The Coming of the Fairies_. It didn’t feel magical, but it was wrong, too heavy.

“Hang on… this one.” He waited until she cast her shield charm, and then he pointed his wand at the book. “ _Revelio_.”

Nothing happened.

“This might be all right,” he said, opening the book. A cloud of pixies exploded into the air, chattering and screeching. They gleefully flung themselves against the shields, and tugged at Newt’s hair and clothes, ecstatic at their release. Scooping them up was a simple matter, and Newt hoped the rest of his task would be as easy.

“If I take each item one by one, it shouldn’t be too difficult, unless, of course…”

“Unless what?”

“Well, there’s always the possibility there’s an enchanted dragon here, or didn’t you say something about a werewolf?”

“I did,” Flint said grimly. “A werewolf trapped in the wolf stage. I wish you hadn’t mentioned dragons.”

“It’s not likely…” Newt glanced at the painting of Guinevere and the knightly tapestries hanging on either side.  He picked up a blue and white willow patterned plate that had been displayed on a stand. The usual pair of swooping birds had been replaced by a Chinese Fireball. “But it is possible.”

He prepared himself for a burst of fire, and tapped the plate with his wand. The shelf behind him exploded, books and statuettes tumbled to the ground as a decorative seashell transformed into a silver-green lizard. The creature gasped, its eyes blinked, and it was still.

The pointless death of an innocent creature angered Newt.

“That’s a Moke, isn’t it? Can I have it?” The shopkeeper knelt over the dead animal. “This is my property, so I should get to keep it.”

Newt tried to answer, but his throat was choked with anger.

“I think there’s one more,” Flint said. “Three is always a nice, magical number,” she quoted Grindelwald’s letter.

“I killed it,” Newt finally said. “By choosing the wrong item, I killed it. If I cast any kind of revealing charm on the wrong thing, that’s it, I’ve killed something else.”

“Newt, calm down.”

“There’s a living creature trapped in here, and I don’t know what it is or where it is.”

“You figured out the first one, and I know you can do it again. Back at school,” she paused. “I know you can do this, Newt. Although, if it is a dragon, or a werewolf, we might wish you hadn’t.” She readied her shield charm.

“A unicorn would be nice. Dead or alive, they’re worth a lot of money.” The shopkeeper shielded herself and waited expectantly.

Newt decided to pick up each item before deciding which one was enchanted. Decorative glass; a carriage clock, hands frantically spinning backwards; a jewelled dragonfly; a China cat with one blue eye and one black; a row of monkeys seeing, hearing, and speaking no evil; a Japanned tea tray; a quill made from imitation phoenix feather. Newt held the quill for a long moment, wondering. He looked up at Rowena Ravenclaw tossing flowers into a river. Maybe if he’d been clever enough to be in her House, he would be able to break the last enchantment.

“It’s not moving,” he said. “The paintings here don’t move.”

In the tapestry on the other side of the room, angels and knights were frozen in a tableau. Not a wing fluttered, and the kneeling knight, hands raised in supplication, was still.

Newt moved closer, tried to make out the features of the knight’s face. He slowly raised his wand, not daring to think about what would happen if he were wrong.

The tapestry pulled apart, threads snapping, colours shimmering and fading as the knight emerged, real, naked, and most importantly, alive. He staggered forward, and half-conscious collapsed on top of Newt.

Newt pushed rolled the man over and grabbed a blanket from the sofa to cover him.

“Be careful, Newt! He could be dangerous,” Flint shouted.

“I don’t think so.” He knew this man although they had never met.

The shopkeeper bent over the unconscious man. “Alive? Ah, that’s no use to me. I’ll just make a cup of tea, shall I?” Purple robes swirling, she slammed the door behind her.

“Do you know him?” Black asked.

The man’s eyelids fluttered, and he groaned faintly.

“Mr Graves?” Newt whispered. If it had been a Kneazle or a Hinkypunk, he would have known how to take care of him. “Do you know where you are?”

He took the man’s hand in his and squeezed it slightly. After a moment, Percival Graves responded. He held his hand until the mediwizards arrived.

Newt and Phoenicia Flint reported back to the Ministry that the flat had been cleared, and then went to St Mungo’s to visit the man they had rescued. The man in the flat and the man Newt had met in New York were identical, but the lines in the face of the real Percival Graves were softer, and his mouth lacked the cruelty of the Grindelwald imitation.

“We’ve already released him,” the healer at St Mungo’s said. “Physically, he’s fine, so there’s no reason to keep him here.”

“We need to hold him at the Ministry. We don’t know what he knows. Was he a prisoner, or was he hiding in that picture while Grindelwald did his dirty work?”

Newt was silent. His part in the drama was over, and he was free to return to is studies, but the memory of how Graves trusted him made him concerned for the man’s welfare. Newt slipped away while Flint reprimanded the healer for her carelessness.

Graves was alone in a strange city with only a robe from the hospital. Newt considered his options, and apparated to the steps outside Gringotts. He apologised to all of the people he knocked over by appearing so suddenly, and then raced inside. No, they could not share information about customers who may or may not have requested a transfer of funds. Requests had to come through proper channels, and even then they might be ignored. The goblins were so oblique and disobliging that Newt knew he had been right. Graves had come for money—what was next, clothing or a wand?

The counter at Ollivander’s was stacked high with rejected boxes as Graves, still in his hospital robe, flicked a ten inch alder wand discontentedly.

“I keep telling you, 15-inch, ebony, with a phoenix core. I want a wand exactly like my real one.”

“No two wands are alike, and what was right for you as a young man, is wrong for you at this stage in your life.” Graves snorted impatiently, and then turned to Newt.

“What kind of wand do you have?” he asked.

“I wanted to find you,” Newt said, unsure of how to continue.

Graves’ face brightened. “You, I thought you looked familiar. You’re the one who found me in that godforsaken place. I would be honoured to shake your hand, mister—I don’t know your name.”

“It’s Newton Scamander, Newt Scamander, please call me Newt.”

Graves’ handshake was disconcertingly hardy. He wondered if Graves remembered holding his hand in Grindelwald’s flat.

“Please call me Percival. I owe you my life, Newt, and I won’t forget that. What do you think of this? He says the wand chooses the wizard, but where I come from, you can order any wand you want. If it explodes when you’re lighting up a room, that’s on you.”

Ollivander looked amused at Percival’s bluster. “If you want a wand that explodes, perhaps Mr Scamander can take you adventuring down Knockturn Alley. If you want a wand that works… this.” he slid a long box across the counter.

“That’s more like it.” Percival lifted the elegant, golden-brown wand out of the box.

“Cypress, dragon heartstring,” Ollivander said.

“ _Lumos_ ,” Percival said. The shop filled with a joyous, pure light.

“They say wizards who wield a cypress wand will die a heroic death.”

Percival counted out a stack of gold coins. “That kind of sales talk would never fly in New York, Mr Ollivander.”

Ollivander bid them farewell in a manner that suggested he wished the best for them despite his thorough disapproval of both sales talk and New York City.

Later, Newt would wonder if Ollivander’s shop was where it began. Percival would say that it was; he claimed when he shook Newt’s hand he’d felt a spark, that he’d known Newt was the one for him. Or he would claim it began when they were shopping for robes. “All of that velvet and lace, English decadence,” he’d say, and Newt would stumble over his response, unnerved by Percival’s almost sultry tone and by the novelty of the phrase _English decadence_.

Buying robes was easier than buying a wand had been. Percival was a little subdued after his encounter with Ollivander, and restrained himself to a mere two complaints about the lack of New York spirit in London. The first came when the young witch assisting them tried to talk Percival into a black robe with a blood-red lining.

“I think this makes me look a little vampiric,” he said.

“You’re not?” The young witch looked from Percival to Newt. “Aren’t you the magizoologist?”

“Er… he’s not a vampire, and even if he were a vampire, that would fall to a different department… Unless, of course, you’re referring to the Uncommon Vampire Bat, which I have encountered several times in Sussex.” As Newt described the habits of the Uncommon Vampire Bat, he could hear Percival muttering about how in New York you would never call a customer a vampire, even if you saw him feasting on a nubile blonde.

The robes Percival finally chose were lined with a pale grey, and with a simple charm, they could transform from severe robes to a slim-cut muggle suit. “What do you think?”

“It matches your hair,” Newt said.

“That’s an important consideration.” Percival picked up his bundle of travelling robes and all-weather dragonscale boots. “Now that I’m fully dressed and have wand in hand, should I turn myself in, or should I buy you a drink?”

“The second one, if you don’t mind.”

The Leaky Cauldron wasn’t exactly the best place to hide from the Ministry, but it did have the best drinks in London, and in the afternoons it was quiet enough for conversation. After discovering that Percival had never heard of butterbeer, Newt ordered a round and watched Percival try it.

“Did you just say it’s better than what you get in New York? Did I hear that?” At that moment, Pickett, his bowtruckle, abandoned his usual timidity and clinginess, and dove into Percival’s butterbeer. He splashed around merrily until Percival fished him out.

“You need to order your own, little one,” Percival said, laughing. The tiny creature crawled to the top of Percival’s head and stretched out, exhausted and tipsy. It trusted Percival, and Newt knew it was a good judge of character.

“If we’d met in some other way,” Percival said, “I would have asked you…” He spoke softly, but his voice sounded too loud in the quiet pub. Newt had seen them as well, the audience casting shadows just beyond the door.

“Is it typical of New Yorkers to leave before buying their round?” Newt hoped he sounded as if he hadn’t noticed anything was happening.

Percival suddenly leaned across the table, his hands on Newt’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “When this is over, I’m going to thank you properly,” he said. He pressed his lips against the side of Newt’s mouth, a kiss that was all too brief. “Wait for me.”

Phoenicia Flint led a group of Aurors through the back door, while Dumbledore and the Head Auror strolled in the front.

“Mr Graves, I’m afraid you’ll have to come with us,” Dumbledore said.

Newt raised his wand, ready to take them all on, but Percival shook his head. “Wait for me,” he repeated, his dark eyes holding Newt's gaze.

 _Choose wisely_ , Grindelwald had written, perhaps the only true words in his life. Newt knew that in choosing Percival he had found more than wisdom.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a prompt in prosodiical's chocolate box letter: _Graves has been turned into a magical beast or transfigured into an animal and seeks out Newt to help change him back/recover?_ and _Newt needs a hand clearing out a smuggling operation_. It ended up going in a different direction, but that was the original inspiration.
> 
> [The Holy Grail Tapestries](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holy_Grail_tapestries), specifically [The Vision of the Holy Grail to Sir Galahad, Sir Bors and Sir Percival](http://www.bmagic.org.uk/objects/1907M131/images/142541) is where the unfortunate Percival Graves was trapped. It's unlikely that Grindelwald had much respect for muggle art, but it was probably a reproduction. Perhaps 'this is a fake' was written on the back.


End file.
